Dimanche 29.10.06 It was Sick.
This morning Nik and I have another rendez-vous at the American Embassy (MacDo) in downtown Martinique. But this time we’re both waiting on the same person – David, our Scottish friend. It’s another wickedly warm day and David is soon spotted meandering towards us like a melted McFlurry.
We’re off on our holidays today. Guadeloupe is our first port of call and then Dominica. We bought a ‘family’ ferry ticket for €330 which once divided in three seems very reasonable for three ferry crossings; Fort-de-France to Point-à-Pitre, Point-à-Pitre to Roseau and Roseau back to Fort-de-France.
Karla and Co. are already at the port and David spies many acquaintances from the IUFM. So while David goes up to his friends I’m felt up by a husky heifer of a security guard - I get the feeling she’s pretty frisky despite her heavy-handedness and gruff touch. She asks me if I’ve any knives – clearly she can’t see the daggers I’m throwing at her. I come clean about my fork and spoon collection but my cutlery craze doesn’t appeal to her, she just mooves me along.
The ‘departure lounge’ is a cattle shed. And although there are a few fans rotating overhead they just seem to whip up the whiff of the livestock. There are rows of rickety wooden benches and a vending machine which only spits out peach flavoured ice-tea. There are no toilet facilities so that could be the reason behind the stench.
My Dad calls to wish us a safe journey and I get the obligatory rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ down the line. We soon join the queue and file outside. Nicola and David breathe a sigh of relief as they’re finally able to take a fag drag.
Thankfully the boat is a non-event. I don’t do anything except watch the Martinique coastline fade away. I’m content like that because any unnecessary motion or mutterings would have me spewing off the side. We have plenty of room to ourselves but there’s a kid’s soccer team who just won’t zip-it, though you can’t blame them for nattering away throughout the awful entertainment; Latino romcoms don’t rock my boat either.
It’s pretty chilly on the downstairs deck but the sickly smell up top, mingled with the midday heat and briny, fish-breath keeps me nestled in the coolness for most of the crossing. We stop at the port in Roseau for a few minutes while passengers disembark, embark and barf. I venture upstairs to use the facilities but some wretched retcher got there before me so I settle back into my seat with my innards still intact. The sea becomes more agitated on the last leg of our crossing. I just sleep.
After three hours at sea Guadeloupe greets us. It’s dusk when we dock and by the time we’ve disembarked the shadows are mingling with the sailors.
Alex (Northern Ireland) boarded at Dominica. Herself and Karla are spending the week in Guadeloupe with Angela and Ceri. Ceri has stayed on in Dominica for another few days but Angela is in Guadeloupe to greet the girls. Angela has a bit of a welcoming committee in the form of Andy and Martin, two German students who she met in Martinique and who she possibly persuaded to come to Point-à-Pitre.
A good few assistants attended Dominica’s 10th annual World Créole Music Festival (WCMF) held at the Pottersville Savannah. The main attractions were Shaggy and Wyclef Jean and one of Soca’s biggest international acts, Byron Lee and the Dragonaires. More indigenous artists included Zouk Flam with Anthony Gussie of Black Affairs fame and Ophelia Marie, T-Vice, WCK, Swinging Stars with Hunter and King Dice, Triple Kay just off their Belgium tour, Dominica’s own Impromptu Band, Admiral T out of Guadeloupe, Cael from Martinique, Mighty Sparrow and Haiti’s top compass bands Tabou Combo and Carimi. They warbled, wriggled and wooed the crowds over the three days despite the downpours.
Angela, Alex and Ceri were at the WCMF. Angela commented that, “It was sick.” That didn’t seem like the timeliest remark for those of us that were just off the boat, but nonetheless we had the sea out of our system at that stage.
We all went our separate ways at the port with Nicola, David and I hopping into a taxi to Sainte-Anne and the others off to get their rental motor en route to Saint-François.
Guadeloupe is one of those places where people who like to battle down prices can do so at their ease. If you don’t have at least two ‘walk aways’ before you settle on the price then you need to rethink your tactics. David is an old hand at this sort of thing. He lived in China for a while before coming to Martinique; he nearly didn’t make his flight back to Scotland from Hong Kong because the ticket traders didn’t see the funny side of his ‘walk away’ approach.
We bargain our taxi driver down to €40 for the 20km journey from Gare Maritime to Sainte-Anne. It may not seem like a snip but it cuts out hanging around for another ride. Plus we’re quite far away from the bus depot and as we don’t know our way around Point-à-Pitre it’s wiser to pay up.
Our lodgings in Sainte-Anne are in a modest but cheery beachside residence; Auberge Le Grand Large, just a two minute amble from the beach. (www.aubergelegrandlarge.com) And once you’re at the beach you can stroll along the sparkly, sandy, palm-dotted 13km shoreline of Plage Caravelle. It’s one of those picture-postcard turquoise bays where you can stroll, swim, sun, strut your stuff and rent out kayaks, windsurfers, body-boards and boats. Further up the strip, just east of Point-à-Pitre, is Guadeloupe’s premier resort area, Le Gosier, with the likes of Club Med taking over. Here you can rent the big beach boy toys: jet-skis and motor-boats, and you can also indulge in snorkelling and scuba-diving just beyond the reef.
It’s nearly 20,00 by the time we wander into a nearby restaurant, Lucullus. The place is comfortably sheltered by palm trees and colourful, flower and animal patterned placemats and charming wicker lamps brighten up the place. Cuisine Créole and Française are on the menu. I opt for Colombo de Cabri which is a mildly spiced dish with grilled goat with the usual rice and salad accompaniments. Chocolat Fondant tops my meal off nicely. For mains Nicola takes the fish ‘court-bouillon’. It has too many bones to be enjoyable but her Banane Flambé seems to set her soul on fire. David doesn’t do desert but he starts off with accras and progresses unto the Grille Mixé. All in all it’s not the best meal and the service is noticeably slow and disjointed.
However, as we later ramble along the soft, moon lit shore, letting the gentle, warm waves lap at our feet we feel more content. Our satisfaction is ensured upon finding Américano Café, a Western-style bar, where Leffe and Stella Artois are our desired digestifs. Even though the sun is gone there are many midnight swimmers and mellow merry makers to be seen along this sandy stretch. We covet this cosy, carefree tranquillity and wonder if the tables were turned and we found ourselves on holiday in Martinique, by Diamant or Trinité, would we feel the same. I suppose it wouldn’t be a real holiday if we couldn’t covet a piece of paradise bliss like this. And I’m sure the locals it must see it as just another beach, another resort and another trading ground. To experience the real local life we’ll have to venture away from this quiet haven to explore the rougher heights of Guadeloupe, away from the old-time comforts and unhindered holiday happiness of Sainte-Anne.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Fun, Fuelled Festivites - Samedi, 28.10.83
Samedi 28.10.06 Sun and Fun, Fuelled Festivites
Whahoo! It’s my birthday today.
Joyeux Annversaire. Joyeux Anniversaire.
Joyeux Anniversaire. Joyeux Anniversaire.
Dite-moi, quel âge as-tu ? Dite-moi, quel âge as-tu ?
Dite-moi, quel âge as-tu ? Dite-moi, quel âge as-tu ?
Ajourd’hui j’ai 23 ans. Ajourd’hui j’ai 23 ans.
Ajourd’hui j’ai 23 ans. Ajourd’hui j’ai 23 ans.
And it’s Ochi Day in Greece. Ochi Day commemorates Mextaxa’s bold and unexpected refusal to allow Axis troops to cross into Greece during WWII. I text my Greek pal, Panos, in Thessaloniki to wish him well on this fine day. He could be anywhere in the world. He’s from Greece. I lived with him in Belgium. He went to work in Switzerland, and last time we spoke he said he hoped to soon go to London.
Nicola took her first private class today with two ladies so she left early this morning. She texts to tell me that the pervy young bus driver, David, drove her bus today. He’s driving mine too – at breakneck speed around the crazy turns and down the sketchy hills. Perhaps he’s a ‘speed demon’ and a Formula 1 fan like Nicola. At least they’ll have something in common – though he better not like Schumacher.
I’m off on my own circuit today – to Trois-Ilets, finally. It’s another scorcher with temperatures up to 39ºC according to the flashing neon signpost at the corner store. The good weather has brought more tourists with it; though this time the colossal cruiser is no-where to be seen. And neither is Nicola. We arranged to meet at the American Embassy (MacDonalds) at 11,30 and it’s not like her to be tardy. She arrives nearer to midday and explains that she had to go to her student’s house for the lesson. The twos ladies sound like right narks but it’s a nice no-brainer nixer.
The area around Trois-Ilets was once referred to as Cul de Sac à Vaches (Cow Creek) because of its location at the end of an inlet. The town got its present name from the three small islets in the bay; Charles, Sixtain and Thébloux, the names of their last owners, who operated lime kilns there. Found nearby is La Pagerie, birthplace of the Emperess Joséphine, where a small museum celebrates the memory of this famous Martinique figure. Le Village de la Poterie, former property of the Jesuits form the 17th century, holds a craft village with workshops, and Le Vatable with its forest and its sugar cane museum is located in the ruins of the Vatable distillery.
We hop on a pétrolette to Point du Bout which is one of the beach resorts at Anse Mitan in Trois-Ilets. The crossing from Fort-de-France only takes 20 minutes and it costs €3.90. We only buy a single ticket since our friend Will will be joining us later and he has offered to bring us back to Tivoli afterwards.
The bourg of Point du Bout is not unlike the town of Trois-Ilets with its «Red Heart»; walls, paths and roofs in typical red bricks and tiles. We wander around the quaint village, admiring the various pastel panels and typically touristy shops. There’s really nothing much to see or do in Point du Bout except dive into the sea or into a delicious dish, or soak up rum and sun. Though what else would I want to do for my birthday in the Caribbean?! It seems like a million miles away from Fort-de-France though the local yobos are never far away; one tries to sneak a bikini under his jacket but the owner spies him and shout him and his cronies out of the shop.
We soon stop browsing for gifts and instead scan menus for grub. La Pause, a small café-resto near the bourg centre, is our chosen midday watering hole. A Mexican with bleached, spiky hair welcomes us in. We’re soon nestled under the shady coconut trees, by the colourful hammocks, on our sturdy stools overlooking the square and sipping Pina Colada from hollowed pineapples. It’s not just a liquid lunch that we indulge in. I settle for a healthy slice of cheesy quiche with a juicy salad while Nicola has a divine bovine burger and chunky chips. My desert is the biz. It’s a magically moist chocolate and banana cake. Each moist morsel melts longingly in my mouth. Even though I’ve tried to resist bananas lately (since the mossies love them) I’ve no room for regrets.
There are many white sandy beaches at Point du Bout but its hard work finding one which isn’t possessed by a hotel or holiday complex. Nicola and I however, soon stumble upon a small bay where a dozen or so sun seekers are snorkelling and sunning themselves. On one side of the bay there’s a tiny jetty to jump off and the other side is full of fins, flippers and fish from both the sea life and the snorkellers. I lounge for a while like a beached banana boat on our sandy plot while the alcohol and sun soak in. The evening passes swimmingly though it’s not long until the heavens turn tawny and our skin takes on prune-like qualities.
Our bodies obviously need to be rehydrated so we pack up and seek out a nearby cocktail kiosk. By the time Will arrives we’re in high spirits. Since we’ve drunk the place dry we decide to venture on towards Tivoli, though not before making a stop at Will’s cousin’s bar, Le Green Impérial just outside Trois-Ilets. Thierry is our host and he’s also the President of the Barmen Association of Martinique. The bar, like the cocktails, is rich in colour, personality and taste. On entering the Le Green you first find yourself in the simply decorated wicker and wood restaurant. You then look over the terrace to see the bar below. The bar gets its name from the nearby golf course. Le Green is a true treasure trove with chunky wooden beams and adornments in various green tones along with quirky bottles, unique glasses, arty ashtrays, ethnic artwork, a publicity corner and bubbly personalities; Thierry’s three daughters work alongside him making and shaking concoctions. There’s a long high thick wooden counter which seems to be supported by giant beer barrels. The lower seats are also arranged around similar barrels with tiered tops.
Quelle salle du type... vendredi, 27.10.06
vendredi 27.10.06 Quelle salle du type…
Today I’ve got an opportunity to post my Blogs but first Nic and I have a few things to do in town… We’re in by 11,00. The first port of call is the bank, Credit Mutuel. It has been over three weeks since I set up an account and I still haven’t received by PIN number. The guy at the desk is the same hottie who set up my account. He explains that there was an error with my address – he must have been distracted. He pops into a back office and comes back with my ATM/Maestro card telling me that my PIN will be sent soon. We don’t get paid until the end of November so I’ve nothing in the account anyway. However, my AIB card works perfectly so I skip off to assuage my Irish account.
We need to get some Eastern Caribbean Do$$ars for our trip to Dominica. €200 euros is exchanged for EC$590. It’s great to feel rich. The real big spenders however are in town. There’s a colossal cruise liner docked in the port. I haven’t seen one so close before. It must be 15 stories high. There’s a notable increase in the number of people around town. Tourists with naff bum-bags, glaring pasty limbs and irritating accents revolve around the markets and quayside streets. The ratio of whiteys and blacks must be 50:50.
Nicola needs a bag for our trip and a ball gown for the Grad so I’m only too happy to embark on a quality girly shopathon. She bags a sack, sandals and belt but a formal dress is harder to find. It’s not that there’s a shortage of specialist shops – it’s more the price. We see plenty of gorgeous gowns but €400 is too much for one night of frolicking in frocks. With the dress quest put to rest we decided to go our separate ways.
I’m off to the IUFM to avail of free wireless internet. David, from Scotland, lives and teaches there and he has given an open invitation to use the facilities. I get there just before 13,00. David’s got a class for two hours so he doesn’t mind me sitting in his box room while he goes about his business. His room is indeed a box. The ‘bedroom’ section has just enough room for his bed, locker, fan and a pile of shoes. The other section holds a slide robe, shelving and desk with his laptop. Down the corridor there are shared toilets and showers and there’s a communal kitchen which he shares with about 12 others. There are only three guys on his floor. He complains about the noise the girls make. Their nattering is indeed never-ending and noisy. Most of them are from the Métropole so in true Frenchness they use more words than are necessary and because they’re girls their conversations are also more animated.
David returns a while later as half his class didn’t turn up. I’ve most of my month’s posts up but I spend a bit longer checking emails. I begin to think David has had his girl quota for the day so I say my goodbyes, thankyous and bientôts and I potter off past Rond Point.
I decide to suffer another waxing session. Being fuzz-free is in order for our trip to bushy Guadeloupe and shaggy Dominica. After half an hour of magazine musings and designated door opening (it’s not in the best area so the door can only be opened from the inside), I finally get called into the cool parlour, to get stripped and striped. It’s therapeutic and enterprising as I get to talk to some potential clients for private English classes.
When I arrive home Nicola is preparing for her own one-on-one lessons. When I left her in town she went to a librairie to purchase a carnet de quittances and two contracts but, since they totalled €30 she thought it best to let Madame Arlette get it since the onus is on her to provide us with these things.
However, no expense is spared on an ice-cream birthday cake, toffee and caramel treats, candles, cards and presents as it’s the eve of my birthday. We have our fill of all things sugary and syrupy and advance on to the alcohol. We had invited David and Gethin to join us tomorrow at the beach but they each had their respective excuses; too many woman and not enough. It turns out that Gethin is off to Dominica with Fran and Bex; nice of him to abandon ship and let us know. You can’t trust the British; or Welsh, or whatever.
Today I’ve got an opportunity to post my Blogs but first Nic and I have a few things to do in town… We’re in by 11,00. The first port of call is the bank, Credit Mutuel. It has been over three weeks since I set up an account and I still haven’t received by PIN number. The guy at the desk is the same hottie who set up my account. He explains that there was an error with my address – he must have been distracted. He pops into a back office and comes back with my ATM/Maestro card telling me that my PIN will be sent soon. We don’t get paid until the end of November so I’ve nothing in the account anyway. However, my AIB card works perfectly so I skip off to assuage my Irish account.
We need to get some Eastern Caribbean Do$$ars for our trip to Dominica. €200 euros is exchanged for EC$590. It’s great to feel rich. The real big spenders however are in town. There’s a colossal cruise liner docked in the port. I haven’t seen one so close before. It must be 15 stories high. There’s a notable increase in the number of people around town. Tourists with naff bum-bags, glaring pasty limbs and irritating accents revolve around the markets and quayside streets. The ratio of whiteys and blacks must be 50:50.
Nicola needs a bag for our trip and a ball gown for the Grad so I’m only too happy to embark on a quality girly shopathon. She bags a sack, sandals and belt but a formal dress is harder to find. It’s not that there’s a shortage of specialist shops – it’s more the price. We see plenty of gorgeous gowns but €400 is too much for one night of frolicking in frocks. With the dress quest put to rest we decided to go our separate ways.
I’m off to the IUFM to avail of free wireless internet. David, from Scotland, lives and teaches there and he has given an open invitation to use the facilities. I get there just before 13,00. David’s got a class for two hours so he doesn’t mind me sitting in his box room while he goes about his business. His room is indeed a box. The ‘bedroom’ section has just enough room for his bed, locker, fan and a pile of shoes. The other section holds a slide robe, shelving and desk with his laptop. Down the corridor there are shared toilets and showers and there’s a communal kitchen which he shares with about 12 others. There are only three guys on his floor. He complains about the noise the girls make. Their nattering is indeed never-ending and noisy. Most of them are from the Métropole so in true Frenchness they use more words than are necessary and because they’re girls their conversations are also more animated.
David returns a while later as half his class didn’t turn up. I’ve most of my month’s posts up but I spend a bit longer checking emails. I begin to think David has had his girl quota for the day so I say my goodbyes, thankyous and bientôts and I potter off past Rond Point.
I decide to suffer another waxing session. Being fuzz-free is in order for our trip to bushy Guadeloupe and shaggy Dominica. After half an hour of magazine musings and designated door opening (it’s not in the best area so the door can only be opened from the inside), I finally get called into the cool parlour, to get stripped and striped. It’s therapeutic and enterprising as I get to talk to some potential clients for private English classes.
When I arrive home Nicola is preparing for her own one-on-one lessons. When I left her in town she went to a librairie to purchase a carnet de quittances and two contracts but, since they totalled €30 she thought it best to let Madame Arlette get it since the onus is on her to provide us with these things.
However, no expense is spared on an ice-cream birthday cake, toffee and caramel treats, candles, cards and presents as it’s the eve of my birthday. We have our fill of all things sugary and syrupy and advance on to the alcohol. We had invited David and Gethin to join us tomorrow at the beach but they each had their respective excuses; too many woman and not enough. It turns out that Gethin is off to Dominica with Fran and Bex; nice of him to abandon ship and let us know. You can’t trust the British; or Welsh, or whatever.
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